


The Witches They Didn't Burn

by Mossbeast



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, I don't know how this happened, M/M, Old Gods, Pagan Gods, Rating might go up, Sort Of, Suicide Attempt, Updating the tags as I go, Witch!Ichigo, a lot of story, in as far as a god can commit suicide, none of this makes sense, spiritual bullshit, very irregular updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossbeast/pseuds/Mossbeast
Summary: Defeating Aizen had been... anticlimactic, in a sense that it was over too soon. There was no grand explosion, no overwhelming relief and joy, only pain, and lonely suffering. No Shiro or old man Zangetsu to nag him, no Rukia to annoy the everloving god out of him, no Soul Society trying to recruit him for their ranks or get him involved in their weirdass political schemes.Kurosaki Ichigo got dropped like an unwanted treat. Correct shape, but not the correct flavor. Or, perhaps more fitting of an image, a cannoli with all the filling sucked out.After Ichigo defeats Aizen and loses his powers, he doesn't get them back. He starts his human life, lives it to the fullest by becoming everything he never wanted to be as a kid, until deep in the South American jungle he meets someone who doesn't think his tales of a Shinigami and Hollow war are his imagination.Things are about to change due to the looming threat of the Wandenreich.(Takes off after Aizen is defeated and then... moves on. There are some similarities but. Yeah, no. It's Quincies and that's about it.)
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	1. Helvegen

**Author's Note:**

> Wheee welcome to my BS!  
> And a very happy last approaching full moon of the year.
> 
> None of this is in any way true - I'm just vaguely throwing random knowledge together and googling the rest to make it fit somehow. If you have questions about being a pagan, or a witch, there are about twelve gazillion better sources. Even me as a person is a better source and I'm just winging it tbh.  
> This work is heavily inspired by some art I found on tumblr and thought I had saved or reblogged but I haven't. Big sad. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it regardless!

Defeating Aizen had been... anticlimactic, in a sense that it was over too soon. There was no grand explosion, no overwhelming relief and joy, only pain, and lonely suffering. No Shiro or old man Zangetsu to nag him, no Rukia to annoy the everloving god out of him, no Soul Society trying to recruit him for their ranks or get him involved in their weirdass political schemes.  
Kurosaki Ichigo got dropped like an unwanted treat. Correct shape, but not the correct flavor. Or, perhaps more fitting of an image, a cannoli with all the filling sucked out. 

Kisuke and Yoruichi fought hard to help him keep his chin up but ultimately, he couldn't bear the overwhelming silence any more. Nights he should have been able to sleep through peacefully, something he'd desperately wished for as a substitute shinigami, he spent perched on his window sill staring at Karakura's night sky, wondering about the Gargantas he now could no longer see, hear or taste like ozone on the back of his tongue, coating his airways with a metallic tang and a bad taste of diesel. He couldn't feel the tear between the worlds any more, couldn't sense the electrifying feel of reality itself being torn apart like an old, frail mosquito net being pressed on by a particularly strong bug or even a bird. He watched the moon rise and fall, wax and wane, the night sky rarely ever dark because of all the lights of Karakura, even deep at night. He bought himself a little star map and tried to find his position under it. 

He couldn't even spar with anyone anymore because they'd breathe wrong and wipe the floor with him. His human body healed so slowly. He watched his sisters grow into their spiritual awareness, Karin taking over his substitute shinigami duties, and Yuzu, kind, gentle, compassionate little Yuzu, grew just as tall as Ichigo and Karin, a few centimeters shy of Isshin, mousy brown hair flowing out past her shoulderblades, and grew on to learn of their mother's history as a Quincy. She harnessed the powers, with a little help of Uryu and Ryuken, and somehow Ichigo, who'd left them all behind to see them safe and uninvolved in the mess of the afterlife, was suddenly the one eating and breathing their dust as they all took off.  
So he started focusing on being a human, living the life he had wanted and wished for during the whole debacle with Aizen. He finished high school, studied in Tokyo, graduated with honors and started teaching other students. He embraced his love of English literature and taught that, while studying Japanese and Chinese literature, which ended up taking him here and there, England, United States, Guatemala, Canada, Ireland, Norway, Ecudaor. He drifted with the winds of academia, picked up several different languages and interests along the way and a new study field: history and archeology.

Spurred on by a carving on a monument on an ancient Chinese temple deep in the province of Qinghai, because that was _Ulquiorra_ staring back at him, no doubts about that, not with those big eyes and tear markings and the weird horned helmet, he started digging into _who_ the Arrancar had been.  
Nel had been a legendary warrior from Siberia, he learned, truly fearsome when angered but otherwise gentle and deferring to her clan - something that had gotten her killed. People in the icy plains and bare tundra prayed to her for luck and guidance. Ichigo didn't have the heart to tell them that their warrior deity was the very creature they sought protection from. After years poured into research and travel, a series of academic books on a variety of ancient human beliefs and knowledge of enough dead languages to make Latin and ancient Egyptian look boring, he figured he had them all down. Even the unranked Espada, in parts, like Cirucci Thunderwitch, a nightmare tale from Lithuania, but one of them remained elusive. And it had to be Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

 _Fucker_ , Ichigo thought to himself as he watched the Peruvian jungle pass by the Jeep his guide used to get him to old monuments and the Indigenous tribes. A lot of them were very curious, if reserved, about the man with long, bright orange hair who wrote in weird little pictures but made great effort to learn of their culture without trying to take from them. Instead, he offered showing the tribespeople simple first aid techniques and explained to them in great detail what exactly vaccinations were. He remained with them for a few days, bringing valuable knowledge and goods in exchange for a relatively safe place to rest and insatiable hunger for their stories. Word passed through the jungles of South America _somehow_ , Ichigo was resolutely _not_ going to become a renown researcher into South American tribal culture, and he traveled from one tribe to another, sometimes even via explicit invitation, and ended up an unofficial expert on the matter of tribal politics and conservation efforts anyway.  
He sighed and leaned his head against the metal frame of the car. His driver, a young man named Alonso with a messy patch of curly black hair atop his head smiled at him, somewhat sadly, and asked in broken Japanese: "Still nothing? What are you even looking for?"  
Ichigo smiled at the effort Alonso was making. "I don't even know anymore. At this point - knowledge itself?"  
"We should take a break at my house", Alonso said, pulling off his sunglasses now that it was getting darker. The day and night cycles of places so close to the equator never ceased to amaze Ichigo. All of a sudden it was pitch dark and the trees seemed to creep closer. When he voiced his thoughts, Alonso laughed. "You are cherished and protected by the tribes, Ichigo. No one will attack you here. They all fear what will happen if the tribes declare war."  
The rest of the ride was spent in silence, except for the call Alonso made on his satellite phone to his parents, to announce their arrival.  
"Please don't be overwhelmed", he added with an insecure chuckle. "Abuela's mother was shaman of a tribe that got killed in a governent raid, and Abuela is very spiritual."  
"I don't mind", Ichigo shrugged. "It's what I'm collecting. All the tribe lore I can find."  
"You must be looking for _something_ , then, Professor. No one spends twenty years of his life dedicated to finding every bit of lore about obscure patrons and deities all across the world if they don't have a very specific endgame."  
"You'll think I'm crazy. Hell, sometimes even I think I'm crazy", Ichigo chuckled softly.  
"Lay it on me. Abuela does it all the time." Alonso looked very serious, and Ichigo decided that perhaps, perhaps, it was time to let someone other than his family in on the big secret. Well, his family and the inhabitants of the Urahara shoten. And Shinji and his crew. He sighed deeply.  
"Look.. alright. But don't you dare dump me here in the middle of nowhere." Alonso nodded. "When I was fifteen, I got involved in a war of a society where people go after death. Essentially, after we die our souls pass on to a place called Soul Society, or they don't and then they turn into Hollows, spirits who've lost their hearts and then eat souls or other Hollows to fill the void inside them. Only that doesn't really work and they just grow stronger the more they eat. So Soul Society has a whole military thing where souls with a lot of spiritual pressure can basically pull a sword out of their ass with which they can purify those Hollows and send them back into the whole recycling circle of souls. My dad was one of them, and I inherited his powers. All my life I saw dead people and got attacked by spirits and then a shinigami, that's what the soldiers are called, showed up and I awakened my powers. Did a lot of fighting, purified a lot of Hollows, it was okay. Only one of the shinigami captains was a traitor and had a stone called Hogyoku, the God stone, that would have made him a god too. He used it to turn Adjuchas or Vasto Lorde, the two most powerful types of Hollows, into something called Arrancar. They were pretty close to us shinigamis in a way, with a sword made of a part of their soul too, and the traitor captain ended up wanting to overthrow everything. I sacrificed my spiritual powers to end him. I found a carving of one of the best Arrancar in Qinghai and tried to see if I could find any of the others. To become such a strong Hollow you need a strong sense of self, so it makes sense that they'd all be really important people somewhere." He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face and into his hair, grimacing at the tangles catching around his fingers. He tugged the black elastic band out of the messy bun he'd worn all day and let the long strands tangle down. They reached past his hips by now, still burning bright but no longer as unruly and untameable as they'd been when he was a teen. _Weighed down by themselves, not unlike Ichigo himself, with the consequences of his decisions._ Alonso stared at him with incredibly wide eyes from the driver seat.  
"I'd say you're absolutely off your rockers, but abuela told us a pretty similar story not too long ago. Who's the Arrancar you're looking for?"  
"The former sexta Espada, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. His résurrecion was _Pantera_ , and it's reasonable to assue he was a fairly powerful panther-shaped adjuchas before he was turned into an Arrancar."  
"The animal would put him here", Alonso muses. "What were the others?"  
"Well. The guy that gave me the idea, Ulquiorra Cifer, was a weirdass bat-thing. Found him in Qinghai, where there's a type of bats that are pretty much hunted to extionction because their blood supposedly has healing properties. It's tied to the legend of an outcast shaman who commanded bats." He started braiding his hair down after trying to comb through it with his fingers proved nearly impossible.  
"There's a brush in my bag", Alonso offered. "A bat? I mean, lots of people have stories about bats. I'd have put him somewhere in eastern Europe or the very western outskirts of Asia." Ichigo made a thoughtful hum and started digging through the bag at his feet.

As promised, a small travel brush sat pretty much on top of everything in the bag and he began running it over the tangled mess.  
"Perhaps you should let Abuela braid your hair."  
"I got braids in Kenia, and while they look badass I'm not inclined to ever feel that sort of pain again, Alonso", Ichigo laughed, and then winced when he hit a particularly nasty matted spot.  
"Then maybe a haircut?" A small grin played around Alonso's lips.  
"No!" Ichigo met the suggestion with an indignant snicker.  
"Dreadlocks?" The grin on the young man's face widened.  
"No!!!" Ichigo leaned back laughing, perhaps happier than he'd been in the last fifteen years. "No. I just need to get a refill on my meds and then I'll sleep more soundly and toss around less. And maybe pack a brush when I'm visiting any tribe", he added softly.  
"Tell me about this.. Pantera", Alonso asked after they fell back into silence. For a second, Ichigo was grateful for the darkness surrounding them. Explaining the flush staining his cheeks wasn't high on his list of priorities.

"Grimmjow... he was different. Even as one of Aizen's top soldiers, he was something of a wildcard. He attacked me out of nowhere because he was bored and got his arm cut off for it by Aizen's enforcer."  
"Aizen is the traitor shinigami?"  
"Yes. Sorry. The only people I talked to about this know everyone involved. So, after Grimmjow got his arm cut off we were attacked again, and one of my friends with really cool healing abilities got kidnapped by the Espada. She healed Grimmjow's arm. We invaded their world after Inoue disappeared and we could see Arrancar reiatsu clogging her apartment, and by the time I had fought my way to Grimmjow I was so banged up that he felt a fight wouldn't have been fair. When one of his comrades came at us, he warped them away and had Inoue heal me so that he could get a fair fight out of me. It was pretty evenly matched... and then another of his comrades attacked Grimmjow while he was down. In the entire clusterfuck that was that war, Grimmjow was the only one who cared for me as a person, not a weapon, not my abilities, not my freak hybrid abilities. Any other person would've been glad to just off me, but he found that thought deplorable. So I want to know who he was before... before his soul turned Hollow." He swallowed against the bitter lump in his throat and silently added that he should very much like to see whether or not Grimmjow had survived when he'd caught the white plated body and lowered him to the ground, despite Shiro yelling at him that that was the enemy and _do you wish to see us killed, king???_ Perhaps it was somehow tied to his massive lust-crush on the blue haired menace, good god did Aizen _have_ to make the lunatic so damn attractive, but since that was an alley impossible to ever go down, he didn't dwell on it. 

"We'll be by my house soon", Alonso said pointing to a gnarled tree. "The path there is the road that leads straight up to it. I think it's about three kilometers. I hope Abuela cooked something special for you."  
Ichigo smiled softly. "Since you learned cooking from her I think anything she makes is special."  
"I'm glad you think so, but there are some foods that are even better. I think she actually knows magic, just not the way she says", Alonso laughed. "Although, considering the story you just told, perhaps she truly is spiritually aware. Did you find one of your Espada here?"  
"Several. Nnoitra Jiruga and Tia Hallibel. One is the weird lanky fucker with a big head that everyone thinks is an alien and Tia is Tiburon, the soul of the amazon river. She supposedly was a great tribe leader and one of the first to move her people around on boats. She died during childbirth, which is why her depictions are covered and all windows facing the river are barred when a baby is due. Also one of her fracción was a great warrior from Ecuador. It's really interesting, actually."  
"Who's the lanky fucker, as you so eloquently put it?"  
"I'm not sure. He must have lived in an area where the aztecs were, so all records were pretty much destroyed. Funnily enough, his depictions are all centered around the only hints we have of El Dorado so... who knows what we'll uncover once someone locates the city of gold. Or maybe something happened like with Coyote Starrk. He's an old Native American tale, but other than him controlling the coyotes of the steppes people disagree on who he was. A deity? A shaman? A warrior? A talespinner? I doubt I'll ever get any closer to the truth, and it's not like I can go and ask him."  
Alonso made a non-commital noise and they completed the rest of the drive in silence. Climbing out of the car and stretching his stiff legs, Ichigo took in the hut and its immediate surroundings. The trees looked old and seemed to form a natural wall around the property. There were two buildings, roughly equal in size, a small shed with a chicken ladder attached to the door and the roof-structure that apparently doubled as a carport, where they stood now. Suddenly the door of one of the huts opened and spilled warm light over the packed dirt ground. A small, scarily thin old lady with a shock of white hair and dark, leatherlike skin stood in the doorframe, gesturing wildly with a large wooden ladle. She wore fairly traditional facial piercings and had black markings, not unlike Grimmjow's estigma, under her eyes, although they curled over ther edges of her face and disappeared beneath the stark white hair. She must have been very old for her hair to have turned that color.  
"You are late! Boys need to get home on time and eat", she scolded and Alonso ducked his head, yelling apologies while dragging Ichigo along into the stifling warmth and humidity of a home with freshly cooked dinner on the table. 

The food was delicious, hot and fresh and spicy in a way few tribes could afford to cook. He tried to be polite and only eat one small plate, but he underestimated the force of nature Alonso's grandmother proved to be. Among the first things he had to accept was that she was his Abuela now too, and would be deeply offended if he tried calling her anything but that. She stalked off into a dark corner of he hut, sulking into her colorful linen apron. So Ichigo apologized, bowing deeply and she smacked him up the head gently and folded him into her thin arms, which were deceptivel strong. He suddenly had very little doubt that this old lady had no trouble wielding any of the large butcher knives that stuck to a magnetic strip on the wall, hell, he'd bet good money she'd even be able to wield Zangetsu if she set her mind to it. And so he found a small new home, far away from his small apartment in Tokyo which Yuzu had laid claim to to be able to film in a neutral environment for her small cooking blog, or the tiny wooden hut he'd come across in Norway, a bit north of Hammerfest, where he'd spent three years studying any and every European language while the aurora borealis danced above his head in swaths of green and blue. It had been a while since Ichigo last came to any place he'd consider a home, _not like this_ , and Abuela made sure he had third and fourth helpings, all the while muttering under her breath and pinching at his ribs and cheeks. He'd come to learn that jungle dwellers were a rather hands-on people and by now appreciated the casual display of care and affection. It reminded him of how uncomfortably stiff Japan was, where even among nuclear families touch was rare and deep, emotional conversation often a taboo, especially if th entire family was involved.  
Alonso and Abuela? Not so much.  
Halfway through his fourth helping, Ichigo froze. He remembered Alonso saying something about parents and an older brother. Hugo? He cast a glance at Abuela, who was busy dusting a small shelf with a lot of knickknacks that, on second glance, looked a lot like ritual pieces from different tribes he had visited. He hesitated for a second, and then asked carefully. Abuela shook her head sadly. "A few years back there was a fever here, and Daniela, Renan and Hugo helped me make medicine and brought it to the tribes. They were ambushed by members of a drug cartel because they thought my family was smuggling goods through their territory. They remain here, tethered to the family house where we go and speak with them, but their physical bodies are gone."  
Ichigo blanched, and abuela chuckled. "Fear not, little shinigami. What they taught you in the Soul Society is not all. Not every tethered Plus turns into a Hollow and not all of the strong Hollows fed on the innocent and their brethren. Sometimes, if a soul was revered enough during their lifetime, they become legends and we pray to them. They roam Hueco Mundo because Soul Society is a place where souls are reborn, but the Adjuchas and Vasto Lorde are old. The ones you got to know as the Espada were corrupted by the Traitor's godstone and might not even remember who they were and what their purpose was. I'm sure you remember how all the places you visited sooner or later lost their fortune. It was then when Aizen touched them and forced them to become who they weren't."  
"How did you know I was a shinigami?"  
"Oh that's easy. You share their haunted look", Alonso smirked. "We weren't quite sure at first because there's very little video evidence of you, mostly only the books you published, but after you started tracking the Espada for real we knew."  
"Just... who are you people?", Ichigo swallowed heavily, heart thumping hard in his chest.  
"You might call us witches, I suppose. Or shamans. Priests." Abuela turned and the way the light caught on her piercings and wooden jewelry made her look every ounce like the scary, uncivilized people media often made indios out to be. She also looked centuries old, eyes turning completely white from late stages of glaucoma. "It doesn't matter. You seek answers, power, to right a wrong done to you. Most of the world remained ignorant of the sacrifice you made and Soul Society was all too eager to drop you because they fear your power. Shinigami, Hollow, Quincy. A Visored and a Fullbringer, the bastard creature that shouldn't exist because unlike all previous attempts, you have achieved perfect balance within you. That scares them", Abuela hissed. Alonso leaned back, skin looking a lot more leathery and wrinkled than before. Ichigo watched them transform rapidly into old, weathered creatures, a hag and a revenant and he was within their clutches. He started to panic, breath coming fast, the loose shirt suddenly feeling tight and stifling his breath, restaining his arms firmly to the sides of his chair and his vision started blurring when suddenly a cat jumped onto his lap. A sleek, black cat with piercing yellow eyes and a thin leather collar with a tiny bell attached to it.  
"We thought perhaps it'd be best if you weren't alone with the new situation", the cat purred in a deep voice. It reminded Ichigo of Yoruichi's cat voice. _Yoruichi's voice!_  
"Help me", Ichigo choked out with tears in his eyes. There was nothing he could do to defend himself. He had nothing, not even a single, lousy knife. Yoruichi tch'ed and jumped onto the table.  
"We're not here to hurt you. We're here to help you get back in touch with your power without having to rely on those warmongers on the other side."

Abuela set a cup with a hot, strong smelling liquid before him. "Drink it while it's still hot", she crooned, gently patting his cheek. "We will be on the other side and teach you how to dream."  
He eyed it suspiciously but Yoruichi hadn't ever led him astray thus far, and so he gathered his shattered and fleeing resolve and grabbed the mug. Alonso made encouraging gestures and Yoruichi stared him down with her unreadable expression. He took a tentative sip from the steaming cup, carful not to burn his tongue, but despite the herbal smelling wafts of vapor coming from the liquid he found it to be a soothing temperature.  
"The boy already knows the inherent magic", Abuela smiled and patted his long hair, carefully braiding it away from his face. "You will do good, Kurosaki Ichigo."  
He took one last deep breath and tipped the earthen mug up to swallow down the liquid. It felt hot and cold, burning its way down his throat and slowly sinking to his heart, from where it spread out through his entire body, lighting up his nerves with a tingling sensation. He gasped and clutched at something, but suddenly the chair fell away from under him and he felt himself dropping into nothingness. The air felt thick and viscous, like oil and dust and concrete, and he was scared to drown when a thousand voices started whispering to him in different languages and intonations, pleas, orders, suggestions, to breathe, _breathe Ichigo_ , and so he did, forcing the thick atmosphere into his lungs. A sudden shot of pain rang through him from head to toe and he blacked out. When he came to, he was sitting in a small, green cove. Upon further inspection, he found the weird structures to be remains of skyscrapers totally overgrown with moss and lichen and trees. _Nature had laid absolute waste to his inner world_ , he realized and reverently touched the concrete ruins.  
A pale figure ambled towards him, lifting a white hand to shield his face from the sun.  
"Ichi?", it called, in a strange yet incredibly comforting voice. "Is that... _KING_! It really is you!" Shiro started running towards him and slammed into Ichigo's frozen self.  
"Shiro you.. I..." Again with the tears in his eyes. Ichigo let out a shaky breath and lifted an unsteady hand to cradle Shiro's face, but hovered a hairsbreadth above the skin, biting his lower lip. Shiro, however, had no such qualms and placed his palms against Ichigo's jawbones, long fingers reaching up to cover his cheeks and curl around pierced and tattooed ears. His Hollow then pressed a soft kiss to Ichigo's lips.  
"You're not dead", Ichigo whispered, totally overwhelmed, hands closing around the familiar face, gazing into the black-and-amber eyes he loathed and loved.  
"No. Our connection was different though. Soul Society pumped you full of Shinigami power which is probably the among the lowest in your inner workings. It only took twenty years to lay a proud, strong city even I had trouble damaging to waste. You sacrificed the shinigami powers that weren't yours to begin with. They... they tortured me, drove me out of my mind with pain and suffering my people endured thousands of years ago, because the shinigami powers forced me to live through every brutal death my people suffered, be it the Spaniards or wars among themselves. I'm sorry for how I tried to overwhelm and kill us. That's not.. that's not me. I'm your horse. I mean it when I say I will carry you to battle and see you through it. I'm not some dumb steed to be used for power only, though. I am also your brother, you lover, your confidante. I am Tohil."  
Ichigo laughed wetly. "You're meaning to tell me you're the Mayan deity of fire, rain, war and sacrifice?"  
"Well, technically, since you bear me he is us. But that can be discussed later. For now, we have guests waiting." Shiro dropped his hands and gently clasped them over Ichigo's wrists.  
"Where are we, Shiro?" Ichigo tilted his head back and stared at the crowns of the trees vaulting high above them.  
"Hard to explain. It's still your inner world and also where the others are waiting but deeper. I've missed you so much - I had to get to you first, have you all to myself for a little bit. See for myself that you are alright."  
Ichigo dropped his hands from Shiro's - _Tohil's_ \- face and turned slightly. "Where...?" A cool hand grabbed his and entwined their fingers, unwilling to lose contact anytime soon.  
"You need to go back up", Tohil explained. "Remember sinking into your world? Basically do that back up. Not vertically, into the sky, but further outside. And please, call me Shiro. Tohil is who we were once upon a time. We still have the same function but we are different." Ichigo nodded dumbly and tried to apply himself to the concept of moving up but _not up_. There was an exasperated chuckled and Shiro grabbed around Ichigo's waist. Within a breath suddenly Yoruichi, Abuela and Alonso stood before them. The first two smirked at the two of them, while the latter dropped to his knees and averted his eyes.  
"You may rise", Shiro informed Alonso coolly - come to think of it, were these even their names?  
"My my, you're still _quite_ the dick, aren't you Tohil?", Yoruichi asked with a smirk.  
"I don't see how that's any of your business, Bastet", Shiro replied with a raised eyebrow. Yoruichi - _Bastet??_ \- cringed visibly at the name.  
"Please refrain from the dead names", she stated, a little too evenly. The way she spoke when she was truly shaken.  
"Back at ya."  
Abuela rolled her eyes. "It is time we teach Ichigo the finer arts of spirituality, and best before Soul Society come creeping for him to clear up their last mess."  
Ichigo looked around them confused, and Shiro placed his chin on Ichigo's shoulder. 

"It's a long story. Basically, the shinigami corrupted one of the really old ones into doing their thing. He forgot who he was, humans call him God. He had a son you may know as", Shiro frowned, "I never get that right. Was it Allah or Jesus?"  
"Jesus", Ichigo said, frowning. "I don't see how Christianity, Judaism or Islam plays into all you members of polytheistic deities."  
"Ye-ouch", Yoruichi said. "You speak so detached about matters that directly influence you."  
"They call that PTSD", Ichigo snarked back, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. Shiro purred, although Ichigo rather felt it against his back than heard it, and wrapped his arms around Ichigo's waist, effectively pulling the human soul closer to himself. Yoruichi nodded and abuela shook her head. "You waste precious time! Yhwach is on the move already and we don't know when he plans to unleash his corrupted father on the world."  
"What do you mean _god is corrupted_? You don't mean to tell me that the deity most modern societies build their moral values on is actually evil?"  
"We do mean exactly that, Ichi." And for not having been in contact with Shiro for twenty years, Ichigo could still tell his facial expression just by the inflection of his speech. Shiro was frowning. Hard.  
"God is... they were the main deity for most polytheistic pantheons. The shinigami feared the power of all those old Vasto Lorde and merged them together into one body before chaining him... _it_ to an aspect of their own reality." Yoruichi changed into her human form, but instead of her black and orange track suit she wore a simple off-white linen dress that looked suspiciously like ancient Egyptian temple drawings. She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. I need to bring a change of clothes here. Haven't worn these in at least two thousand years."  
"Who are you?", Ichigo turned towards Alonso and Abuela. The latter bowed deeply and said in her old, gravelly voice: "The Maori know me as Rangi, but later on I have also been known as Hekate. Names do not have special value to me, for now I am Abuela to you. He is the first Houngan, but I don't think anyone remembers his name. He chose Alonso for himself and I decide he can keep it."  
"A Voodoo priest who practices white magic and keeps the songs of the ancestors", Shiro whispered into Ichigo's ear. Then he turned his head a little more to speak to the others: "I suggest we convene at a later time. Ichi's getting tired and since we are in a unique position I believe I can allow him access to my understanding of the world. That way he can rest and learn while you three make sure that we are safe. Our body does not leave the mortal plane."  
Alonso, Abuela and Yoruichi nodded and started to vanish, but Yoruichi hesitated for a second and Ichigo used that time to throw himself into her arms. She oofed playfully and ran her hands through his hair.  
"We missed you, you know? Kisuke kept an eye on the apartment in Tokyo but you haven't been there in years. I wanted to tell you about all this away from Kisuke and everyone else, just the two of us but you never returned. I had to take my ass to hot and humid South America of all places", she tugged at his ears gently. "I want to tell you to not do that again but now that Shiro's got you back I doubt he'll ever let you go. Possessive bastard, that one."  
"Problem with that?", Shiro asked and Ichigo could _hear_ the smirk and the cocked eyebrow from where he'd appeared right behind him.  
"Oooh, kinky", Yoruichi purred. "Would you let me be the filling in this Ichigo sandwich? I promise I'm juicy." Ichigo wrinkled his nose and Shiro laughed. Ichigo hadn't known Hollows could be so carefree. Then again, apparently he hadn't known anything about Hollows at all.  
"We're bent", Shiro said simply. Ichigo nodded simply and Yoruichi pouted for a second before taking a step back. "Don't tell Kisuke, ne? That's music I need to face on my own. And soon, I think. You two be well. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" With that she vanished into thin air and Ichigo turned to face his albino reflection. Shiro opened his arms and Ichigo slumped against him. They stood silent, until Ichigo asked: "Is... _is_ there anything she wouldn't do?" Shiro's chest moved with silent laughter, but no reply came. Instead, he asked: "A lot to take in, hm? Break for now?"  
"Yes please", Ichigo groaned, which was met with more soft laughter and suddenly he felt everything tilt until he settled against a patch of soft, cushiony, green moss beneath the dancing shade of a large tree. Shiro sat down next to Ichigo and started carding his fingers through long, orange hair. "Any pressing issues we need to speak of now?"  
"Who was Grimmjow? I couldn't find anything about him and I'm kinda ... confused." He yawned, barelay managing to cover his mouth.  
"Twenty years and you're still not over him? Boy you got it bad", Shiro laughed. "It's nowhere near here. You aren't even on the right hemisphere. Ever wonder why everything drags you back to Norway?"  
"You're not serious. No way Grimmjow was a Norse god. No fucking way, Shiro, stop pulling my leg."  
"Am not. And it's not even a he", Shiro smirked. "Kitty is fluid."  
"Who?", Ichigo almost yelled.  
"Get some sleep, King", Shiro smiled, covering Ichigo's wide open eyes with his hand. "You can ask all the questions later while I revel in the knowledge I can withhold." Ichigo growled but Shiro remained adamant about keeping his silence and soon there was exhaustion tugging at his mind. "I really like the look", Shiro said after a moment longer of combing his fingers through silky hair and gently scratching and massaging the warm scalp beneath his fingertips and Ichigo smiled at the gentle praise before drifting off. He thought he heard something along the lines of _makes you look every bit like the witch you're meant to be_ but he was too tired to dwell on it.


	2. Solringen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoever gets the origin of the chapter names right gets a lovingly drawn horribly ugly GrimmIchi fanart. I'm getting back into sketching and drawing and for someone who was super invested in drawing for 18 years I'm really no good. At all.  
> But it'll be created with love so I hope that counts.
> 
> Anywho.
> 
> After this I only have two more chapters written out, three more are skeletal constructs and the rest of the story is open because _I haven't actually finished the manga yet_. I have been spoilered though, so I'm just reading for details (OK and because I'm a completionist with a lot of anxiety). So.  
> We're all in for a surprise I guess.

Ichigo woke to an insistent cooing and chirping sound he couldn’t place. It sounded like a bird, but none he had ever encountered. Somehow more haunted, like a call to the other side. A cool hand brushed wispy hairs out of his face and booped his nose.   
“Hey sleepyhead”, Shiro grinned.   
"What's that noise?", Ichigo groaned and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. Shiro lifted a hand and made a strange cooing noise himself, and a green bird with an insanely long tail fluttered out from the massive branches crossing overhead to perch on the offered seat. A fat grin sat plastered on his face, but it was missing the decidedly manic tint Ichigo had grown so accustomed to in the two years of the war, more than half of his lifetime ago. Shiro seemed more peaceful, happy even to an extent. The Hollow looked beautiful and Ichigo hoped that he wouldn't lose him again.  
“What you hear are the Quetzals. Pretty, aren’t they? How do you feel?”  
“I feel like I got run over by a truck...” The _I feel old_ was more than implied but he didn’t like to focus on how much time had passed since he’d been abandoned by his allies and friends. The pale deity winced in compassion and carefully started massaging Ichigo’s forehead and temples.   
“We don’t really have the time for you to learn about everything traditionally, so you’re probably going to have headaches until we’re level.”  
“Fuck Soul Society”, Ichigo groaned. The emotion was met with a smile and more gentle massaging. Tension drained out of Ichigo's still body until it laid relaxed on the moss covered concrete, head comfortably cushioned against milky pale thighs. They sat for a while in comfortable silence, Shiro continuing his gentle ministrations, while Ichigo went through the Hollow’s memories.   
He saw the rise of the Maya through the eyes of a king who was lifted into godhood, revered for his wise decision making and fair rulings. Watched how Tohil acted with benevolence and, when there were blood sacrifices, how he took in those souls to become stronger, and gave out blessings to their families. He felt the abject horror of clan wars, the cold terror of hopelessness when the Spaniards arrived and tore his kingdom down to the children to pieces. He grabbed Shiro’s hand and squeezed, the pale figure trying a weak smile but faltering pretty soon.   
“I am among the oldest of deities, one of the strongest, but the destruction of my people made me weak and unstable, so the shinigami never had a use for me. Until that traitor came..” Long fingers deftly started braiding the bright orange hair that spilled carelessly over the moss and rocks.   
  
_He roamed the vast emptiness of Hueco Mundo for millennia, cackling madly and absorbed in his grief, lost in pain. Slaughtering any other Hollow that ventured too close to him. He felt the strong presences of other Old Ones, and steered clear of them. They all carried their own brands of madness and he wanted no part of it. He’d seen the embodiment of the steppe devour a daughter of night and spit her back out as part of his soul. He drifted to the most forgotten places of the bone desert, places that used to be lively with lesser spirits and other gods. All the forgotten places he’d once ruled. Roaming his palaces and temples, watching them crumble and decay into dust as no one remembered him, worshipped him, he at first didn’t notice the disappearance of the other Old Ones. But one time he lifted his head off a crumbling staircase he’d let himself drop down like a puppet with cut strings, he noticed the glaring absence of some of the strongest gods that roamed this place. The whole world seemed smaller, too, as though the disappearance of their presence had also eradicated their territories. He tried to dwell on it, but the implication of being so thoroughly forgotten that he would simply cease to exist scared him, deeply. He sought contact with the human world once more, brought thunder and storm where they wouldn’t have formed before, but humans told themselves that things changed and perhaps the climate was one of those things too. He found nothing worth protecting, only chaos and pollution and greed, and the presence of a thing he didn’t know and didn’t care for. Humans called it God, prayed to it, built it houses and temples, invited it into their homes. He made himself a perch above a city built with ugly, undecorated grey blocks and watched. And then, one day, one of the shinigami stood before him, in their black uniform with a white overcoat. He looked... odd.  
_ _Not very bloodthirsty. He wasn’t yelling about destroying the Hollows like his brethren. Because shinigami did that. They banished Hollows, destroyed the food chain of Hueco Mundo and wondered why they would start attacking humans. But this one was different. He held himself with no aggression, but a relaxed stance, shoulders wide and open. Brown hair was slicked back and the facial expression was the ugliest, slimiest of all, probably meant to look friendly but there were lies and deception in his eyes. And Shiro knew to avoid these two at all costs. Deception had claimed the lives of the people he'd once sworn to protect and lies took whatever riches they had left to the home of invaders, to feed a massive, greedy machine of corruption, extortion and pain.  
_ _“You’re one of the last Old Ones, aren’t you?”_  
_“What’s it to you?” Shiro started grabbing and yanking at his hair just to move the pain in his soul somewhere tangible. Standing still for too long pushed his mind into overdrive with all the pain he was feeling, he felt it bubble in his throat, rising steadily like bile. His eyes flashed and he lunged at the Shinigami. He would make him feel his pain!_  
_But the slick bastard wasn’t there. He was merely an illusion. Shiro seethed, frothing at the mouth and trying to locate the fool who dared to approach him without a reason or a short reprieve from all his pain. He tore open the veil between the worlds and stepped back to his crumbling palaces, took in the state of decay and howled to the moon in agony, once again cursing how weak he’d been. Time had long since lost its meaning and Shiro wasn’t sure he still remembered what life without constant grief and torment felt like. Would he go insane from the lack of screams, from the suffering at the forefront of his mind if it went away?_  
_And then that oily asshole was in his face again._  
_“I have a proposition to make. You are Tohil, are you not? A god without a purpose? That is what drives you so mad. I am a researcher with Soul Society, and I study your kin. I can give you a purpose if you give me access to your mind.”_  
_“Do not underestimate the suffering we contain”, Shiro hissed. This blown up, self-congratulating bastard knew nothing. “You do not understand the matters you step into, and you don’t own a shred of common courtesy.”_  
_“If it is sacrifices you seek, I’ve brought you six adjuchas. I would ask of you to keep an eye on them all, because I promised them I would give them purpose. Your new purpose is to protect them, as you once did your people.”_  
_“Unless you are a complete and utter idiot you must be aware of what happened to my people”, Shiro scoffed._  
_“They wait at your house, Tohil”, the shinigami said before he faded into nothingness. Pompous, dramatic asshole. Shiro seethed, but decided to take a look at these adjuchas._  
_They were small, meaningless, except for the one that was a panther and pretty much ignored him. He teased it, relentlessly, and when it finally attacked him his pack begged him, called him_ Herr _and_ King _and Shiro laughed, delighted at the challenge._  
_“There can only be one king in these lands, kitty!”, he cackled as he avoided massive claws striking in his direction. He let the panther get close, let himself be pinned and then flipped them both around to dig his own claws into the bared neck. The armor meant nothing and the panther knew it. Shiro could rip out his throat if he deigned it so._  
_“I am Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez”, the panther said._  
_“Now perhaps.” Shiro glared at it, but couldn't quite hide the hint of amusement at the defiant spark of the adjuchas. He seemed to run on spite and anger, not a bad combination in this barren wasteland. Infinitely better than madness._  
_“You are correct. I am also ————”, the panther gave in after a while averting his cold, blue eyes._  
_“Children of the North, then?” Grimmjow nodded and Shiro got up from its prone body. They made their way back to Shiro’s house where the others were waiting and when Grimmjow went to sit on the dais that Shiro had claimed as his own, he left enough space for the ghostly pale god to sit. They spent a lot of time curled into one another, learning of each other while Grimmjow’s pack roamed the nothingness in search of weaker Hollows that would make for a nice meal. It was not much, but it it felt like he was finally regaining himself, Shiro thought. A group of adjuchas, all proud and strong to protect. A family, of sorts. He got used to the steady presence of hard plates and razor sharp claws curled around his back, a heavy head on his thigh.  
It wasn't much use to scratch the broad head and playing with the pointed ears usually ended with a warning growl or even a bite to his hand, but were often followed by an apologetic lick over the punctures._  
_Telling time in Hueco Mundo, with only the pale moon and ever shifting white sand as guides was impossible, and judging by the amount of lesser Hollows they devoured wildly inaccurate. Grimmjow's pack roamed far and brought many kills for everyone to share. They grew more powerful, more influential than they had been in centuries and Shiro found himself settling a little. The agonized screams in his mind became easier to ignore and the constantly clawing, slashing, burning sense of agony ebbed away._

 _And then Aizen, the shinigami, showed up again.  
_ "Nice job on conveniently forgetting Grimmjow's identity."  
"What's with the snark? I thought you wanted to work for your prize!" Shiro tugged at the braids he was busy weaving together. Ichigo snorted. "There's a lot more, right?" He got a nod in response and decided to enjoy the soft tugs and attention instead of pondering on what else Shiro would show him.   
  
“After Aizen came... He took them. Grimmjow, Shawlong, Edrad, Di Roy, Nakeem and Yylfordt. He took them and changed them. Twisted them beyond belief and had them restrain me. He used his kido and illusions on me, forced me to tear open the veil and enter the human world again. Led me to attack a young Quincy. I poisoned her with myself, my mind and power being absorbed into her body and the only reason that didn’t start a full blown invasion of Hueco Mundo like Aizen had planned is because the shinigami captain of the tenth division decided to lay down his robes and stabilize the Quincy.”  
“What happened then?”  
“Love. Those two fools. Their firstborn took me in, devoured mine and her totally mixed powers. Took in a good chunk of his dad’s, too. Left barely anything for possible other kids.” Realization dawned on Ichigo’s face and he turned to look at Shiro’s somber expression. “That’s how you got your powers, Ichi”, the Hollow confirmed softly. “So when you took Rukia’s powers, that balance we had made throughout the years suddenly got shoved out of whack and there was so much of that absolutely painful, dripping with hatred power, power that sought to destroy me, I couldn’t handle it. I let the madness consume me again because it thrives on pain.”  
“I’m sorry, Shiro”, Ichigo whispered, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. He didn't want to imagine the pain and suffering his convictions and fights had caused Shiro. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”  
“No one but Yoruichi did, but for the longest time she thought I was so corrupted by shinigami and Quincy influence that there was nothing sane left. That’s why she never pushed you to explore the Hollow side of your powers. And you’re not the one who needs to apologize, Ichi. I am. I failed my job as your protector.” He rubbed his thumb over Ichigo’s forehead in a soothing manner, almost as if he was trying to apologize without words. “And now you’re getting old by human standards, thirty-eight years old and twenty-three of those spent in pain and doubt. Luckily age is one thing we can fix.”  
“Time Travel?”  
“Rejuvenation, you moron”, Shiro laughed and returned to braiding Ichigo’s hair. Sometimes he’d tap at the base of Ichigo’s skull for the redhead to lift his head. Whatever he was doing, it felt complicated. And also very nice. Someone was really taking the time to do something for him, carefully and gently, no expectations of payment or gratitude. Shiro was doing this because he wanted to and Ichigo felt an immense gratitude. Even if they couldn’t go too overboard with the rejuvenation because it would undoubtedly be suspicious to some, perhaps he could go with small increments. Five or six years, always hover around 30 because that had undeniably been his prime. Tall, well defined muscles, strong masculine face but no beard growth whatsoever, tanned skin covered in freckles. He’d worked with a photographer of the National Geographic magazines at that time on a piece about legends and folk tales in modern day Mexico. She’d later on described him as the _‘poster boy of a young man living his absolute dream. Armed with a backpack full of essentials, a notebook, a small camera, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, over twenty languages spoken fluently under his belt and the childish wonder of exploration on the forefront of his mind, Kurosaki Ichigo, a historian from Japan, travels the world in hopes of uncovering all those tales that make the brothers Grimm’s pale in comparison. When asked about his motivation, he smiles cryptically and says: History is about preserving knowledge and I want to make sure no one gets forgotten’_ on her blog. He smiled a little, and then frowned when another thought came up, one he could most certainly have dealt without.  
“You alright there, Ichi?” Leave it to Shiro to pick up on everything.  
“Just... how much will you show me? I need to get back to my work. There are tribes waiting for me that haven’t had any contact with modern civilization for nearly two centuries. The UNO puts a lot of hope in me opening a channel to them and perhaps learning how these people can best be supported with the ever growing threat of deforestation and pollution.”  
“Everything I know of, ideally, but we are on a time crunch. There’s no telling when Soul Society shows up and needs your help”, Shiro tapped the frowning forehead on his lap and when it didn’t loosen up, smoothed the pad of his thumb over the wrinkles. "We’ll have to settle for understanding who you are and where you draw your power from. The rest you will make up as you go, as you've always done. And this time I'll be with you with all my faculties intact."  
“Why are you all so dead set on not letting take any more from them?”  
“Because they treat you like a little dog humping their leg. Funny, but ultimately so useless and annoying that they will kick you away. You are everything to me, Ichigo, I will no longer accept anything less than the respect you deserve. You are my vessel, you could easily be the witch king of this century. But they will never teach you the ways of their sworn enemies because witches draw on Hollows.” Shiro growled, fingers tightening uncomfortably in Ichigo’s hair. When the redhead hissed from pain, the Hollow withdrew his hands and ruffled the hair he’d just tugged on apologetically.  
“I’m sure it’s not that bad”, Ichigo said, playing with his fingers.  
“It’s worse”, Shiro said with a grim expression. “It is much, much worse. You see, they took all those old gods and forced them together, called that creature their Soul King and sold it to the humans as God. This creature is malevolent, through and through. It might not attack humans, but everything that isn’t strictly human is fair game. None of us old gods have expectations of how someone has to act in order to be allowed to live. It does. That is inherently wrong. Even as gods we do not possess the right to tell anyone what to do with their lives. We set rules and expectations for those who want something from us, but that’s it. Give and take, so to speak. Not command and punish at a whim.”  
“Why get so worried all of a sudden, then?” Ichigo sat up to face his pale twin, who cupped Ichigo’s face between his hands.  
“Because the original order of the templars, who you know as the Quincy, are pretty close to making their move on Soul Society and you will be caught in the crossfire.”  
  
_Fuck._  
  
**“Fuck.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! Thank fuck this past dumpster fire of a year is over. Learned a lot, for example that I miss having the freedom to decide not to want to meet people. That's something at least. 
> 
> I am serious about the art claim. Whoever gets it right first gets a piece of hand drawn woodland monster art.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
